Wednesday, December 30, 2015

GUANXI


Codrus knocks heads with a sleeping Cotard.

Codrus: sorry, buddy, didn't see you there.

Cotard: i've never lived until now...

Codrus: that's for sure! look at us! we're the kings of the world! let's make our final battle clean and balanced and well-fought. and fair above all. i want to feel i've earned my status as Postgod.

Cotard rubs the saliva from his mouth and tastes the airless air of outer space.

Cotard: no worries, my friend. thank you for letting me sleep. i see we can still stand up in the middle of the cosmos and fly without wings. victims to gravity no more. we can move fluidly throughout the black destiny of space like birds. if this is a dream may we never wake up.

Codrus: i know, right? the key will be when we can balance ourselves upon the middle of time and look out in all directions wondering where to go next. that TARDIS is too clunky. for now, we're Superman in real life. and look, right on Christmas cue, here come the three wiseguys.

three asteroids speed along the dark sky as if they're late for the office party after drinking too much holiday nog. one is a big frozen rock of clear white ice. you can see Walt Disney motionless in it. Walt's wtf face indicates that this is not comfortable and he wants to make another movie. a lightsaber glows red on top of the space ice cube trying to burrow its way through the ice and onto Walt's outstretched hand. Walt was wishing upon something when he went. Codrus turns his head around and turns Cotard's head around for him. the two can see the other side of the asteroid without moving. on the back of the Disney dolomite is a manger scene. Han Solo comes out of Greedo's gun and Greedo comes out of Han's gun in the background. Boba Fett's in the middle. all three wear crowns. in the foreground Princess Leia wears her traditional white shawl but it covers her head. Luke is there in a long beige shepherd robe holding a crooked cane. Leia cradles a baby. the baby wrapped tightly in swaddling clothes is cute little green Yoda. you can only see Yoda's face. Yoda sticks out his tongue. on the second asteroid, Superman stands proudly arms akimbo gazing out into the galaxy. the reverse has Goku striking the same pose guarding over the other side of the universe.

Codrus: the third asteroid is hard to see. well for mere mortals. see Charles Darwin on the tabletop of that floating rock working furiously on his oak desk? he's scribbling notes but his mind is always faster than his wrist. if you watch closely, you can see microscopic organisms dancing by his feet. see them?

Cotard: yes.

Codrus: now if we look on the other side of this particular asteroid we see that the dance is really these microorganisms struggling to survive. but there is nothing on the other side. a black hole inside a black hole. the microorganisms are clamoring aloud but it's too soft to hear: why do we survive? what is this charge that spurs us on toward survival if there is nothing to survive for? it's all just meaningless anyway. we're all just gonna die, that is all our fates, there is no lasting. and yet our impetus to survive is there. it's not not there, it's not in keeping with the all-encompassing nihilism of the night sky. the struggle is real. that's just it, the struggle is indeed real, it exists. now the purpose of survival, well that's advanced theory, maybe we'll come to that when we get older and acquire a few more cells.

a fierce red comet barnstorms its way toward Codrus with a quickness which takes him aback. he tries to hide his hesitation with his fingers.

Codrus: gotta make sure this isn't you know who.......................it's not, ha..................carry on

Codrus grabs the comet midflight and slurps it into his gut like spaghetti, sucking all its energy into his breath, warming his breath. you can see the breath of the two combatants with the letter C when they exhale, it shoots out like stardust.

Codrus: it's always a cold day. do you know what wishing stars are really made of? go ahead, take a look.

Codrus removes the half-digested star from his stomach and hands it to Cotard.

Codrus: i've broken it down a bit so you can see its insides.

into Cotard's hands fall millions of handwritten notes from children and grown-up children all over the world with their deepest darkest desires for themselves and their families, wishes for good fortune throughout their lives, appeals to Job, desperate invocations to dead relatives, suicide notes, prayers to Deepak Chopra, and a recipe for authentic spaghetti. mostly written from the sides of beds, whether at home or beds in various hospitals.

Cotard: of course all of these souls are long since gone. oh chillen, don't you worry your little heads, i will be your Santy Claus.

Codrus: don't let this space fool you. watch this space, watch it for awhile, see how it trembles before me, I control it, i mold it, manipulate it, i am the artist at the end of time, i put on my black beret and dare to claim the empty throne which has grown dusty from everyone else who ever lived assuming it was taken. it was a game, sure, but now it's my game, it's under my steady control, i make the rules, i punched my hand where it didn't belong. space is my baby, it lives under my contours, i am free to roam around and create new spacetime, a new star from my eyetear, a new tear in the fabric from the scar on my abdomen. now i have a reason not to cut my toenails, they're burgeoning dimensions. fly eagle fly. I'M THE QUEEN OF THE FUCKING UNIVERSE! i'm the Ronda Rousey of the universe! i mean i'm the Holly Holm of the universe!!!

Codrus begins expanding his body and slowly destroys the x axis. the y axis is holding on by a thread but it intersects with the z axis and it's a most crucial interception in the ball game. that was not the gameplan. the center cannot hold, it creates a new circle with a new letter addressed to no one. Codrus's stomach doesn't get fatter as much as it gets a bigger sixpack.

Cotard: well now you're just showing off. you don't have to rub it in my face that i need to work out more. new years resolutions. it's tough for a local parishioner, nobody should have to choose between church dues and gym dues. hey before you go, would you mind giving us all a Christmas message on my instagram?

Codrus wobbles around.

Codrus: i'm not used to my new body, haven't grown into it yet. i have fat fingers but let's see if i can type. there you go, send that out to whatever alien species are left. heeheeheehee.

Codrus sends out an inspo quote in white letters against a red-and-green backdrop which reads:

REMEMBER: DON'T KILL YOURSELF

Cotard reads this on his phone with a sly smile and keeps calm.

MEANWHILE back at the rectangle box which provides a cover shelter haven outside space and time for Cotard's mother Fuerza and her three new friends, Mama Fuerza is having a deeply engaging philosophical discussion with Tror.

Fuerza: it's so deeply engaging it's put your poor parents to sleep. let them rest, i envy them. what i mean is that you've stopped me from my third wine, that's an accomplishment. i do enjoy our talks, it's just that i'm old and that affords me the luxury of dreaming more, reminiscing and nostalgicizing.

Tror (blowing bubbles): you were telling me about the door thing?

Fuerza: *hiccup* what? oh yes. right. the door. well you see when people enter a dark room, say a gamer's basement, they blindly wave their arms around like a chicken looking for the light switch. they dare not go down another step without the light on. after a few tries, or rather one aborted try, they give up and walk out. better safe than sorry. but what they are missing! it's not so much the stuff in the room as the door to the next room inside the staircase. and on and on, all the rooms are connected in this way. i got connections, man. why aren't you wearing your shades, daddy-o? i don't wear mine to be cool, they're prescription.

Tror: oh but you are one cool kitten, ms. fuerza. my eyes are used to extreme brightness from home. my pupils evolved, their final form has them already wearing tiny sunglasses. i can see the door of which you speak. shall we go inside?

Mama smiles. on the other side of this door on the side of the stairs is another boxy room which has been set up. there Bridge is pregnant with Kenyatta's baby, the first natural birth from two women in the history of human time. Kiss the kitten is seen prancing around curling around Kenyatta's leg purring. Cotard appears and lovingly hugs his cat rough-pockmarked cheek to furry cheek. his tear trickles down and hits Kiss's oval cateye.

Cotard: one more time.

Kiss: it's okay, fam, we all must make sacrifices. it makes us bigger.

Kiss transforms into a black-footed cat and jumps into Bridge's stomach. he rolls around in there like he's playing with a bigass ball of yarn. Kiss then transforms into his final form: a human baby that cries only once as it comes out of Bridge's vagina.

Cotard touches the foreheads of Bridge and Kenyatta at the same time with his two pushing fingers each.

Kenyatta: don't close your eyes, Father. *smiles* it's okay. Cotard, we're friends. thank you from both of me *half-nod/half-bow*

Cotard (with intensity): my child, my sistren, my friends, coworkers, comrades, compatriots. be merry. and remember, this is what's real. by which i mean this is real. don't believe anything or anyone else. today a child is born.

if you were to stare at and go from this room through the stair door of this room you'd enter a very special place. located in the clump of half-propped-up buildings next to the Surf Shack. a makeshift hospital area of cots like on M*A*S*H. there lies a young woman on a bed recently deceased from a fatal terminal degenerative hopeless brain disease just starting to thrive again for the first time in her death. a volleyball athlete. at her bedside is LeBron James.

LeBron: told you.

Lauren: LeBron? you didn't forget me! you did come to see me again! where am i? who am i?

LeBron: when am i? sorry, had to. i guess we can joke now that you're out of the woods. what's your name again?

Lauren: i forgot.

LeBron: okay, let's go with Lauren.

Lauren: so you're dead?

LeBron: come on, man, i'm LeBron James. i gotta still prove myself. there are those out there who think i can't get it done. that's what spurs me. gotta get back to the game, we're down by 2 at San Antonio. i didn't want to get fouled but i did. doesn't always go to plan. i have to sink these freethrows. no time on the clock. see Shaquille O'Neal behind me?

Lauren: i missed him.

LeBron: Shaq'll look after you the rest of the way. he has time. he's retired and sick of doing those ads, he feels too bonded. talk to him when you get lonely, he's affable, friendly, cool, funny. i wish all giants were gentle.

LeBron gets up and stands up straight. his tats shine against the ocean mist from outside.

LeBron: wherever there's a sports fan in a world, whenever, that sports fan connects to the endless timeline, from Bill Walton to Jordan Curry (nicknamed Magic Jr). there is no finish line. i live in that sports fan's heart, dribbling around depression, traveling illegally through tumors, dunking on death. throwing it down on the big man. posterizing pestilence.

Lauren: thank you. i'm definitely gonna get more into basketball now.

Codrus is ballooning. his ears, furrow freckles, the edge of his ears, his hollows, tubes, capillaries, neurons, sockets, cavities nasal and tooth, thin lips and glottala of a red palette, head lice which turn into snakes, precious neck veins, his neck that's too small for any sort of vicious necktie, not-level collarbone, heart that's too sizes to the left of where it should be, sagging pecs, bellybutton that's neither an innie nor an outie but a flatty, curling fingernails, armpits no wormhole can mask the odor of, hairy penile implant, strained calves, all enlarge. there's an ass but there is no butt to speak of.

Codrus's appendages all coil and curve in a c forming the extra-long tubular side of a giant space dragon. his lines spread all across the far reaches of the galaxy in every direction. as he approaches edges, black latches try to insert his body parts into nice evenly-cut holes and snap him in his right place. instead Codrus smirks and pushes his parts into squares which slowly reach the other side of nothingness. at every edge a peg. he has the edge.

Codrus opens his huge

MOUTH REVEALING SOME FREAKY TEETH AND A TONGUE SWIRLING THE MILKY WAY GALAXY, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

at the moment Cotard can't escape and he's enveloped in a pink film that is thick but nevertheless Cotard is able to see through it. one corner of the galaxy Codrus's body turns into the head of the mythic dragon of old. to the immediate left of this Codrus is the bull snorting huffily continuously. up from this he's a monkey holding a rat by the tail who's holding the monkey by the tail as they each juggle each other's glass balls. down from this the new universe presents its last head as that of a green bald eagle who has on top of its head the most all-over-the-place strawy hair that was once smooth silk from the loom of a German fairy tale.

Codrus: you are now inside my stomach. you can only see what i deem to show you. you will see only through me, what i want you to see. give a brother a break, moving's hard. now if you're a well-behaved good little demigod i may allow you to see the new digs when i'm finished. all this white is blinding me. but it needs to adjust to my eyes. nothing scarier than a blank page that just stares back at you.

Cotard maintains his smile spilling out the side of his mouth. Cotard gives a most sexy man-pout as he peruses the vista from his new bubble. Cotard is pretty sexy for a monk but he can't stay, Cotard has had a long day and needs to go back to sleep.




Wednesday, December 23, 2015

BUMS


Cotard wakes up from a long long sleep in which he dreamed rich rich dreams none of which he can remember. he has a headache.

Cotard (rubbing himself): that's how you know it was good. i will never forget, Friend Imzhan. i need to wake up.

Cotard stirs about and loses consciousness and attempts to gain his bearings but it's hard cos he's so high up. when he finally realizes where he is, he goes straight into his morning meditations.

Cotard: i want to go back. i want to remember where i was.

Cotard is atop a hill on the Pillars of Creation, the one on the far left finger of the hand there that looks like a wave. there is one hill that overlooks the one seaside town. all the buildings of this town are made up of the old brown wood of previous piers, they're all scrunched up against one another like a shantytown all trying to gulp their share of the ocean. the sea glidely waves about with an irregular rhythm all its own, sometimes the wave is big and fluid, sometimes small and jagged, sometimes big and small, sometimes there's no wave, or a half-wave. a piece of seaweed flitters off and will be the Christmas meteor. the sea robins try to fly atop the surface but end up splitting the difference and swimming instead, not knowing what direction they'll go next. Cotard pulls his swaddling diaper up to cover his plumber crack as he continues nonstop praying with his eyes closed and fingertips wrenched. he has no shirt on and feels sexy. it's a good hair day. Cotard eventually starts to feel ghastily hungry.

Cotard: it's so funny how you don't want to stop but your body makes you. those aren't hunger pangs, those are cries for help, shouting in outer space for a change.

Cotard has such no strength he stumbles down the hill like Jack and makes it to the foot quicker than he would have liked. like a rolling cheese.

Cotard: then again, this worked out perfectly. i can eat faster.

he makes his way to the surf shack in the center of town, tiptoeing through the foreign sand. he pushes the saloon doubledoor through.

bald man waiter: here's your coffee.

Sid: i ordered tea. coffee gives me a headache.

bald man waiter: go back.

Cotard: me? you talkin' to me? why? i'm starving. i do dishes.

bald man: you didn't notice the sign. nobody ever does the first time.

Cotard sticks his bald head back outside to see a miniature man in a hula skirt and coconut bra swaying his hips to a beat all his own and read the big sign glowing in rattan letters: SHACK.

waiter: that's the name of this establishment. also the name of our club. and one other thing.

inside the famished monk sees three men in silver wetsuits circling a table. above the tv are hooks to place a prized surfboard but there's no surfboard. on the far right corner lies a table where sits a man in a suit with a wizened face and hair that can't get any grayer. he smokes a cigarette lovingly to a metric tone only he can hear and has one foot out of its way propped up on an oak footstool. you can see his black-socked ankle. the waiter wears a smock btw. one of the three of the round table is young and shaved all over but the other two wear their beards upright, the beards flow upwards from their bald heads. one has a mustache, the other a goatee. one is white, the other pink, their hairs that is. the young boy is sketching on a pad, shapes.

waiter: what can i get ya? pizza.

Cotard is still woozy but he's good at quickly reading and taking the temperature of a room.

Cotard: ever since i can remember i have this strong neverending craving for pizza. yes, pizza. your best pizza please, melty and cheesy and gooey, so hot it thins the sausage into pepperoni. and just plain crust, none of this fancyschmancy thing where you stuff all sorts of shit into the crust, old skool my man, my fine man. bread is staff-of-life enough on its own. i'm so hangry i could eat a seahorse. hell i'll even excuse the occasional stray green pepper or mushroom or anchovy.

the waiter sketches in his orders pad beautifully.

waiter: you've come to the right place! pizza is our specialty! i'm afraid we don't use the oceanlife right outside our door. we've become attached to the life out there. y'know once they name you we become their pets sort of thing. we're out of cheese. no cheese. the cheese comes later. but that isn't what you came here for.

the waiter promptly moves to the table of three and takes their orders.

Sid: how do you like my DOTD?

Glidden: doodle?

Sid: drawing of the day. look at these shapes here.

Rumi: interesting. you have a circle, a triangle, and a square. you're a good drawer! good going, The Kid!

Sid: i've noticed how the circle and square are similar. the triangle is the one that stands out.

on the tv above the bar is Carl Sagan in a football helmet and shoulderpads woefully too big for him. he speaks in a noticeable Texan twang. this is very jarring for poor Cotard.

Carl Sagan: the universe is not fair. the universe is like a football game. all you need is a field goal to win the big game and it goes Wide Left. that's the universe right there.

waiter: what would you like?

Sid: i dunno, i'm so excited. i guess a pizza. with extra cheese? deep dish? and don't forget my special broccoli topping.

waiter: coming right up.

Cotard: come on. *deep sigh*

Cotard peeks at what's written on the waiter's top page like he was back cheating at school and sees a drawing of his dad. the waiter rips the page off and hands it to the monk. the paper falls to the ground. the waiter picks it up

waiter: OUCH!!!

the nail on the waiter's left index finger is completely split down the middle, from texting.

waiter: it only hurts when i try to hold things.

before Cotard can pick it up, the paper has turned into a glass portrait of Cotard's father, the last known photo of the man in his graduation gown.

waiter: maybe this is what you came for? kiss the pic, it's been awhile. it'll calm your pangs.

Cotard (*kiss*): wow dad, it's been awhile. thank you.

Glidden pulls his pinkhair out.

Glidden: i can't stand it! this orange addiction on instagram. everyone is so craving of those orange little hearts do you know what they do? they actually post, say, ten pics a day to get their hearts. then they remove those pics the next day and post ten new ones, just to get as many orange hearts as they possibly can. if they were pink i'd understand. that's no way to be, that's no way to document your life by ignoring your history. this junk is worse than the Stones.

Rumi: it's bad out there in space. *covers Sid's eyes* the adults in the room gotta shield this youngin's eyes until he can handle such filth. you notice the online comments which get the most likes are the ones that encourage bad behavior? promote pulchritude instead of pan- ? bread is good. the craziest, the most dangerous, the most outlandish ideologies, the most fouled-mouthed, -ist, and violent? vulgar vitalizes. the less human the better. all very deliberately cynical. too much freedom, nowhere to go. i told you the internet was a bad idea.

waiter: everyone has forgotten whether it's a joke or real life anymore. egging on. as a chef, i particularly condemn the callous wasting of eggs. i am so serious. everyone has now reached the end, there's nothing more to say or do, everything has been said and done, shocking has come back with diminishing returns, the zenith antenna is broken, everyone is waiting for the next thing and it's not coming. where is the cleaning stick that disrupts the glass pool and makes waves? we must lift outrage out of the pool and resuscitate it with our hands. let's stop fapping to everything. let's use our senses. let's feel again.

cigarette-smoking man (in between puffs): what to do.

Glidden: i wanted it to be grey, it's symbolic, y'know, it fills the room with meaning, it's a conversation-starter. people will ask what is the white and what is the black?

Rumi: i understand your concerns. and i appreciate you as a valued employee. but the consensus was black. i dunno, black's cool. black is every boy's favorite color. it makes it easier to spot the stars.

Glidden: why must consensus rule?

Rumi: this is what was agreed upon. go ahead, kill the messenger, i can take it. i think once you become a parent, you see things differently. you don't have the youthful juice anymore to fight. parents just don't understand. once you become a parent, you'll understand.

Sid (struggling to get his head under Rumi's handblocks): but why not white? white's as primal as black. i eat more blancmanges than i do main courses. and white represents all the colors, right? it would've been more collegial from the start, we would have looked up and seen coming together.

Rumi: hey i'm all for black stars. but it's not without symbolism. in fact the absence of light, of color, speaks volumes in this vacuum of space and is the most representative of what reality is. i like too that it's cold, nice touch.

waiter: soup's on!

Sid viciously gobbles up his pizza with the little bodhi trees on top. that makes Cotard's mouth water as Cotard could have eaten that pizza faster. Sid's sweet tooth kicks in and he cleanses his palate by summoning a candy cane into his palm.

Sid: i wonder.

Sid scrunchies his hand and the candy cane turns to glass.

Sid: huh. knew it.

the Surf Shack turns into a bodhi tree, with its roots pointing up sucking the upwards atmosphere. all of the plastic palm trees which line the room turn real and breathe. next comes a Fritos pizza. Rumi picks off the Frito chips on there and throws away the rest of the pizza. Rumi sucks on the chips until all the salt and starch and added fattening are stripped bare.

Rumi: Frito lick.

Cotard: Frito dick?

Rumi: i'm the Frito licker. i'm the unofficial food taster. i really get in there, y'know, taking apart all of the elements to reveal the core essence of a thing.

Cotard: i beg your pardon, gentleperson. i am hanging around Codrus too much. i need to meet some new people.

the mention of Codrus gets the four talking over one another again but they ignore Cotard in the conversation.

Glidden: he will be the wedge that will save us.

Rumi: he will save everything. we desperately need a new mode of thought. even the grandest ballrooms need to be fumigated. the question always is what will the afterparty be like? now back to my ruminating..................you know what really gets my wheels of life sparking? on instagram, everyone keeps saying how they're not the ones who are dumb, they aren't ignorant, THEY know what's really going on, they're not part of the stupid hopeless idiots on the other side who make the world horrible by gullibly swallowing everything that's thrown down their throats. EVERYONE knows what's going on with a wink. THEY'RE not part of the problem, they see through things, they're smart enough to get it, they see what the government is doing. so then who are these people these people compare themselves to as them being more intelligent than them? who are the shmucks? i'd like to meet these fascinating shmucks. there must be a lot of shmucks cos these people keep bringing them up. the shmucks are the problem, they obviously aren't. who are these people?

the cigarette-smoking man plays a bass guitar with his naked toe poking out of a hole in his sock and bops his mouth to the Seinfeld theme.

Cotard: i can't stand this anymore! my throat has melted and not from butter. will my words ever be honeyed again? i can eat. i could eat. I HAVE TO EAT TO DEATH NOW! it is the human condition! i guess i'll have to cook it myself. that's how you guarantee something getting done, do it yourself.

Cotard signals for the strings to the waiter's apron dirty with streaks of all the colors. the waiter obliges after gaspily looking over to the other four and hands the monk his smock. when Cotard dons the dishbitch's cloth, a sudden wave of eternality washes over behind his eyes and downs the polyps of his tongue, moving the great thirst he had in the back of his neck over to his nose. the gears of his bowels cease grinding.

Cotard: my appetites are gone........................but i am still hungry...........it is a far far better thing that i do........................

Cotard looks around the one small room and suddenly all 5 faces are pointed at him, smiling. except the cigarette-smoking man, who remains stonefaced.

Sid: we needed someone new, too. we are too old and too caught up in the trees. you are our

NECESSARY EVIL, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

cigarette-smoking man (said simply): never thought to smoke with company before. always regarded it as a maligned solitary act.

Cotard: i'm not good with groups. hated Cub Scouts but kept with it cos i couldn't refuse Mama. though i loved the uniform. she paid for Little League, too, and AYSO Soccer. the further they forced me onto fields the further afield i went....................but, well.......................my father was right....................it's better this way...............i won't pry much........................i'm just glad there are still humans still.

Wolf storms into the Shack.

Wolf: what the fuck is going on, guys?! what is up?! you won't believe the time i had! i took a last-minute experimental rocket off Earth before my home planet reseeded itself. man! it's one thing to flee your home country, you still have hopes you'll be accepted somewhere else, y'know? thank god the thing didn't explode. it's good to be friends with Branson. what'd i miss?

Cotard: your daughter?

Wolf: she's with Branson now.

Cotard is wearing an invisible robe. he's all warm and cozy in it.

Codrus: i hate it up here!

a fiery chill penetrates all over Codrus's body as he stands atop the highest of the Pillars and gazes out into the galaxy.

Codrus: it's unnerving. my eyesight is such that i see the tips of all the edges of the universe, i can sort of see the end lines of creation. i try not to look directly at it, i see but the spark of it and quickly turn away, i'm scared of it. my eyes take in the vast 360 degrees of vista of blackness. i try to focus on all the colors but the black swallows it up before i can appreciate. i yearn for some more smoke. i want the comforting black of my covered eyes instead. I CAN'T LOOK AT THIS EVERYTHING ANYMORE! IT'S MAKING ME SHUDDER!!!

Codrus after a day summons up his last bit of courage and removes his hands from his eyes. the pillars are gone. so is the bubble. Codrus and Cotard now walk in space, through space, like walking on water. the end lines of the universe are inching closer to one another, coming together, shrinking.

Codrus (with a relieved Goofy guffaw):  guh guh guh. guh hyuk. so much for creation.


Monday, December 21, 2015

TMIT: PHOENIX DOWN











1. have you had major surgery? what type? root canal. i think. i fainted before the procedure and woke up ten hours later with gas breath on a couch by a plastic plant. soothing elevator music broke the otherwise silent room. i needed a candy break like all humans do and remember popping an everlasting gobstopper into my mouth and feeling no pain in my tooth as i bit down. that gobstopper is still in my mouth...

2. have you died and been resuscitated? yes. there's nothing on the other side.

3. do you have surgery scars that embarrass you? where? i have these two bolts sticking out of either side of my neck. the kids in my class make fun of me cos my dad is crazy. Charlie Brown comics hurt my feelings when i see BLOCKHEAD in bold type. i eat my spaghetti with a spoon cos i'm deathly afraid of forks. i eat my spaghetti cold cos i'm deathly afraid of anything heated. i enjoy the open countryside, though. oh, and my skin is green. that shouldn't matter in this day and age but it still does. it's not easy being green.

4. do you have a scar, on your body, of which you are proud?

SOMETIMES IT'S THE SCARS YOU DON'T SEE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

5. have you ever played doctor and nurse as foreplay for sex? which were you---doctor or nurse? i played Dr. Freud. or no, wait, i played a cigar. a plain ol' ordinary cigar.

bonus: do you like bdsm medical play? what about it excites you? when i was in the mental hospital, i remember the nurse there giving me a wink and a smirk when she told me it was time for my sponge bath. my leg hurt. no, not that leg, my right leg and i didn't know why. i gotta say, this scenario was the furthest thing from sexy. it was embarrassing and uncomfortable. see this is why porn could never work in the real world. the pizza guy really came just to deliver your pizza, he's pinching pennies to make it through college, he's not pinching anything else. there is a definite difference between fantasy and reality.


CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY


happy holidays to all my babies out there! i meant my readers, i don't have kids.


Friday, December 18, 2015

IT WAS NEVER "A NEW HOPE" TO US, IT WAS JUST "STAR WARS"




learned:

* Barbie was the original Princess Leia.

* remember, this isn't about you. it's not about your fatal attraction to Jar Jar Binks. you are but a cog. you were born to make money. you were born to break the record. when you go to the theatre tonight and moaningly brave the long lines, think back to your grandparents who stood in line during the Great Blizzard of '77 to see the original. and they did it barefoot. you are part of history.

* somewhere in space, this may all be happening right now. it's happening in the future, but it happened in the past.

* *Chewbacca eats Princess Leia's buns*

* Darth Vader: you are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor! take her away!
Princess Leia laughs.
Darth Vader: sorry, i was using my David Prowse voice.

* Princess Leia: why is that needle so damn big?
Darth Vader: that's the standard size for this vaccine.
Princess Leia: see?! that proves it! vaccines are bad!

* C-3PO: hello.
Luke: hello.
R2-D2 (with harmonica): hello.
all three (in harmony Three Stooges style): HELLO!

* Cantina bartender: what the fuck, old man?!
Obi-Wan: get me my goddamn tea! Earl Grey, hot.

* Princess Leia kisses Luke on the cheek.
Princess Leia: for luck.
Luke (disappointed): aw.

* Obi-Wan: how do you like my long white penis?
Darth Vader: that's taking it too far!
Darth Vader takes off his mask and it's President Ronald Reagan.
Reagan: this is where the Star Wars meeting is, right?

* Han Solo: why'd it have to be trash? KID!
Luke: aw man, i'm too smelly. Princess Leia will never kiss me for real.
Princess Leia: not necessarily. my father was a garbageman.

* three billion years in the making......i mean a billion years in the making.......come on, people, let's break that $3 billion ceiling!



CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK



happy weekend. may the Schwartz be with you.









Wednesday, December 16, 2015

A PLACE OF OUR OWN




Cotard: dancing makes me horny!

Codrus: what? and why are you so close to my face? i need my personal space.

Cotard: it seems the further we get from one another the more we realize space is an illusion.

the two cosmic wanderlusters move within their bubble to the Asteroid Field.

Cotard: i thought we were going to the Sun. and are we driving the bubble or is the bubble driving us?

Codrus: not exactly sure but i'll know one day. it's like a ouija thing. i always get those two heavenly bodies confused, the Sun and Jupiter.

Codrus has split his hands into eight legs and is sucking the life out of Cotard's poor right shoulder, the one that lodged the knife into Codrus. literally. there's fluid everywhere that spills then ascends.

Cotard: octopussy move.

there's not much to do as the two ride their space car on the final frontier. they regale each other the best they can with tales that may or may not be true. they reach the first outerband of asteroids. there's one that stands out from the rest cos it's more greenish, like there's signs of life on this floating rock. a garden hose materializes from the leftover Moondust occupying the bottom floor of the bubble. the dust has since formed into pebbles and has become decidely pointed.

Cotard: shag carpet is always a must.

Cotard sprays the water from the hose forcibly in Codrus's face, shooing him away for a nanosecond. Cotard then takes a drink of water from the hose, breathing erratically, making a satisfied sucking sound with his big intaking lips.

Cotard: natural at its finest. hey have you seen my drawings? i like to sketch. well i've thought about sketching for years. i was the best drawer in the world when i was a kid. i had no one to compare it to being an only child but i was the best. i wanted to draw the world, i said as much to a priest one confession and impressed the fuck out of him. i've never seen a priest smile so wide since. then as i unfortunately grew up, shit like tests and dates made me concentrate on my performance anxiety more than my pencil. i shifted to stories i didn't have time to illustrate also anymore. oh but the last couple of years i've been itchin' to get back to the central craft. words can only take you so far, they're too constricting, too derivative of ancient cultures, contained in strangling syntax and garrulous grammar. if you use too many of your own made-up words and neologisms, no one will understand what you're saying. and what is the purpose of unshared art? but drawing is truly the one that aligns with unlimited imagination. the line is just the start, begging to be crayoned over to enter the space outside which goes on forever. have a looksee at my booksee.

Codrus: that's very good. nice linework. of course the cover is your mother. that Fuerza, you don't have to like her but you gotta respect her.

Cotard: that's good advice. wish i had. i just want to be an artist that matters. it's so hard to get noticed. everyone's the same tortured soul. everyone has an original idea that's the same as the other guy's original idea. both guys are naturally fighting over the same gal. the gal's ideas will remain covered up and never broadcast. it's never about the art itself. all art is the delightful consequence of desperately trying to get laid.

Codrus: sex is all. everytime i say that word i get all jinglyjangly inside.

Cotard: sex?

Codrus: all. hey look at the green asteroid over there. now watch me manipulate my eight fingers and turn the crag into a smooth sleek upside-down pyramid.

Codrus: HEYUMP!

Codrus: *ah* *ahhhhh* see? perfect. i'm nothing if not symbolic. the plane surface of the upside-down pyramid is the stage upon which any show can be produced and performed. i have the money...

Cotard: and i have the acting chops. hey how do you think i became the most sought-after religious figure after Alberto Cutie according to Forbes? this was before the internet and Pope heels. Jesus wasn't just the Son of God, He had charisma, too.

Codrus: take a look at what's on the asteroid, it's the cast of Wizard of Oz, the original one, 1939. they were so professional back then, the show is going swimmingly. it's like you're looking at a movie but it's real life. those poor Munchkins. and poor Judy Garland, sweet child who has to grow up. each of these asteroids represents another stage in which the Collective Creative Soul takes another opportunity to iterate itself again. see there, other authors taking on the challenge of coming up with characters that are of this life but living in worlds that are like ours but not. i think i see the Aldous Asteroid in the back there.

Cotard: Huxley?

Codrus: Snow. speaking of, this place desperately needs to get wet.

Codrus lifts his eight webbed fingers and it starts to snow in space on top of the Field.

Codrus: look at the Sun. watch as i guide my hand and bring the Sun towards us. see? it's moving to the Field. i know, i know, one more nanoinch and everything burns to a crisp. i think that's where Hell comes from. what are the chances we get another Earth? all of the infinitesimal permutations that took place to form the exact eventful chain. and to be spaced perfectly. that's the key, that space is perfect. the answer is Kepler. Hell is simply the state of not being precise.

Cotard: whoa there, cowboy, if not for me we'dve evaporated before you'd get off that soliloquy. the tragedy is not in the human condition but in that we'd never know your final words. tragedy on stage. i pushed the Sun back.

Codrus: *ahem*, as i was saying, look at the Wizard cast, i'm slowly cooking them, everything must die to make room for the sequel, they won't live but their work is granted eternal life as ash scattered into outer space. the stars become stars. outer space is really just one big netflix database conveniently catalogued awaiting the aliens to come and choose a payment plan for our services. it's always time to chill in space, it's freezing.

Cotard: NO! never again. never forget. i won't let you burn people anymore. i don't see what you get out of this, shouldn't gods be above getting their jollies?

Codrus: should but it sounds so boring. you can think of a thing but what's the point if you can't feel the thing?

Cotard: you are cooking them, sure, but i'm making sure you're cooking them till they're nice and brown, dipped in, sauteed in, soaking in, drowned in the juices of their painful history. they're simmering with resentment but also have a glaze coated onto them, a shield of strength that you can't get without centuries of reduction. look.

in the place of the 1939 cast of the Wizard of Oz on the asteroid stage stands the cast of The Wiz.

Cotard: what a Monday that was! i hate Mondays, too, usually. the first one, the original one, October 21, 1974. reviews said the acting was wooden, the Tin Man's brilliant performance. Mechanic Theatre, where mechanics of the Creative Soul tinkered away, turning the grey dough of their minds into a real baguette that their mouths could feel.

Cotard and Codrus travel inward to the darker more intense rows of rocks in the Field.

Codrus: here are the masters, who are also the lifers, the good kind of misfits, the geniuses of their truth, the asteroids more set in their ways after years of the powers that be forcing them to circle the wagons of their orbit, coarser, harder to work with, harder to melt though the son has tried, every once in a while one of them leaves their orbit to see what it's like never to be heard from again. Galileo and Jobs, i see Eisenstein and Tarantino, Cam Newton with his black boot stamping on Tom Brady's face which remains model-handsome, Kurosawa holding a blazing samurai sword in the sky that's making it hard for me to see anyone else. ah, here is the Lucas stage on that asteroid to the far right.

Cotard: Spielberg is not gonna be happy about this.

Codrus: look at the craftsmanship of that asteroid! i don't think i could make it smoother. this stage is hard as a rock. here they all are: the two robots, Luke, Han Solo on a space plane, a woman that tastes like cinnamon buns, and a badass dude who does not need to be cooked anymore, he's set in his ways. oh, and there's some weird jinglyjangly alien with a longass tongue that's creeping me out. and some new faces i don't know obscured by lens flares. Star Wars---of course it's in space!---is the Ultimate Iteration of the Creative Soul. it's the perfect instance of the Creative Soul going all out and fulfilling itself to the upper hilt of what it can be, what it can achieve, cutting through all threads. it's humanity at its most charged.

Cotard: i have a feeling a lot of this will be coming back soon. what's that square?

Codrus: look at the Sun. see those three people in the square? the weird old man is Gora, his wife is Vara, their child is Tror. Tror came out of Vara's vagina and he's the first human in history who remembers that experience so he's a happy man. Tror is also Gora's father but that's not important now. see all this time for millennia and aeons these people have thought that all the light they saw around them constantly was divine. they thought they were in Heaven. but they were just in my clear box, made from the same substance as our bubble, inside the Sun! *snort snort giggle giggle snicker Snickers Muttley laugh* perspective is everything, eh? there are no facts, just interpretations. *heheheheheh* ahh, what fools these immortals be!

Fuerza enters the clear box and ushers Gora, Vara, and their mankid out and into Fuerza's box.

Fuerza: ah, i can't see anything, it's too bright!

Cotard: Ma, you left the lights on again! how many times i gotta tell you!

Fuerza: file in, folks, i'll tell you a story of the Old Country to while the time, we got plenty of it.

Gora: stories?

Vara: time?

Tror: both.

Cotard: see? this is exactly how it would always play out. i'm trying to draw and Ma distracts me with stories.

Cotard feels his remembered anger draining out an unknown hole in his body. he doesn't feel the hot of the sun but the warm. he's been in a bubble this entire time but this is the first he feels inside a cocoon.

FUERZA BEGINS HER TALE AT THE BEGINNING, WHEN WOMEN WERE LEGEND AND MEN HAD TAILS, WHERE SHE BIRTHED AND BATHED, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

Codrus, a little miffed, dimly tries to pull up a ray of the Sun but is blocked by an unknown force.

Codrus: what the...?

the Sun transforms into an outline of stars dotting the sky. they form an outline of a woman that has a shape but no face. she radiates a tired beauty and an old, wellworn strength. Yayray comes up from the hole where her heart should be, he comes out of his human-match shape and explodes everytime he smiles.

Yayray: the rays! hello, you magnificent bastard, and you are a bastard. you'll never hurt my family again. you'll never hurt anyone again! i'm just getting started. it's like when you think you're coming to the end of the movie but it's a fake ending and the damn movie drags on for another 15 minutes. and then there's another false ending before the real one. Lord of the Saturn Rings. meet my Grandmama, ain't she wonderful?

Binny and Quinny form the two eyes of Grandmama with the head of Yayray's match forming the third eye. Quinny is fiddling with an ipad mini.

Quinny: it never ends, does it?

Binny: go for it. it's the exact opposite on the other side. what are you waiting for? learn!

Quinny: i'm waiting for my tablet to update. everything we've ever known now needs a Kepler patch. you can't say Dick Durrance is the best skier anymore cos what about the ones on Kepler?

Binny: just point me in the direction of their green version of Chapstick Chaffee. hurry, my lips are getting chapped out here.

Yayray: i've never been more proud to be black. black being. i love my black anger, it's so righteous and earned. i love my black in the black of space. i have space to beatdown you. i never forget. a short burst of anger beats years of training. the gun destroyed karate. you in the hood now, punk, the paved streets, dis be my turf.

Yayray glistening with shards of the Stones in his empty belly transforms into the Elephant's Trunk Nebula and screams into an orange fireball of glory which lights up all of space for a short while like a dying star going supernova. the force knocks Codrus and the bubble and Cotard flying into the next county.

Yayray: sorry, man.

as Cotard is knocked back, or knocked forward rather, he quietly fistpumps under his invisible robe.

Cotard (gums flapping in the space wind): no prob, my bro. i understand. collateral damage. can't be helped. for we are all one.

Codrus spots two comets on either side of him and thinks about holding onto them as railings to smooth out his slide.

Codrus: i just need one good stroke.

but Codrus is too scared the two comets are Yayray's legs and he'd get kicked in the balls. or worse yet, they're Yayray's arms and Codrus would have to touch Yayray's shoulder.

three pillars loom ahead which bring a frosty fright into Codrus's heart, a dampening distraction from the chaos of spinning in a ball out of control. it's a jolt from a heart attack more than it is a skip.

Codrus: i want mundane now, i need to hear myself think. the world is getting majestic. i'm getting menacing.


Monday, December 14, 2015

TMIT: LONG TIME NO CHATURBATE





1. do you access the internet on your own computer or a shared computer? shared computer?! how could that possibly work?!
2. do you regularly browse websites you'd rather your SO or mother not know about? i don't want them snooping. i don't want them finding out i love Snoopy more than Woodstock, they're hippies you see. there is nothing more terrifying than when hippies finally get angry.
3. do you have browser bookmarks for sites you'd prefer no one else know about? that's a thing? that could have saved my first marriage.
4. do you clear your browser history? if yes, how often? i'm doing it right now. i do it after every keystroke typed...
5. do you use incognito windows for some of your browsing? i tried to once but a pop-up came up instead of a gif of Edward Snowden shaking his head.
6. do you overwrite deleted files? i'm always scared of accidentally causing WWIII by pushing the wrong buttons.
7. how often do you total-shut-down your home computer? tablet? i don't have to worry about my home computer, it's so old it does it for me by not working three times a day. my tablet jams up all the time, i think it has to do with me not being in the Cloud. i tried to join the Cloud but got a naked Edward Snowden shaking his head.
8. do you have one or more pseudonyms on the web? how many? what do you use them for? i work for the FBI. my name is Fox Mulder. you'll be hearing about what i've been up to, my exploits, next month...
9. how many email accounts do you have? why? many. i'm happily married but sometimes Scully wants that booty call at 3 in the morning, you know how it is.

bonus: do you use any of the following sites? which ones? what makes them work for you? snapchat, chaturbate, okcupid, ashley madison, tinder, down, 3nder, pure:

that 3nder looks promising. see i'm really into Three's Company. i cosplay Three's Company on the weekends. i used to do Ender's Game but, y'know, not anymore. there aren't that many cons that cater to Three's Company nerds so we mostly hang out at the IHOP next to the arena. i cosplay as Jack Tripper on the weekends..........at least i think i'm cosplaying...........

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY


Friday, December 11, 2015

CHURRO LIGHTSABER


learned:

* G2-4T: excuse me, you'll have to check that excess baggage. oh, i'm sorry, i didn't realize that was your husband.
woman: it is. does Disneyland have a marriage-counseling center?
G2-4T: yes, in Fantasyland.

* G2-4T: put away that lightsaber! you'll poke your eye out! you're too young to be a Jedi!
kid: but apparently young enough to be killed by one. have you read this Star Wars history?
G2-4T: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, oh, i'm sorry, i didn't realize that was a churro. enjoy.

* "pilots, absolutely no videotaping.........................and go to the bathroom beforehand, we don't want you exploding before the Death Star does."

* "hi, i'm your friendly neighborhood ride guide. they're making me wear this Muppets sweater. ABC and everything. i like Greg the Bunny."

* pilot commander: Red Leader, what are you doing?! you're shooting at the good guys!
Garven Dreis: wait, which one are the bad guys?
pilot commander: the ones that look like cute little binoculars.
Garven Dreis gets shot down by Darth Vader, explodes, and dies.



CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK



happy weekend



Wednesday, December 9, 2015

SATELLITES (SETH)


Cotard: how are you?

Codrus: got a knife in the front from my best friend. peachy. keen.

Codrus removes the knife rapidly and plunges it in his stomach, chest, and third eye in a plume of time. the smoke from the plume shields his eyes as he wanted, he balks when he has to look into deep space. he instead focuses on the Earth below, a massive hissing molten dried-up stone of dirt.

Codrus: brings an earned tear to my eye. death is so sad but also so pretty. you have to lean on the pretty part or you'll go insane. death is sublimated when it's poetic, makes it less painful or so we trick ourselves. when it's final and absolute, and all of the white noise turns into one sound. the sound of silence. god i remember the last call i took, from some stupid woman complaining about the protesters at her Macy's. humans are so dumb, always calling for this and calling for that long after it's too late.

Cotard: oh don't pretend you're not just like them. you can't run away from your heritage no matter how far you go.

Codrus: i hated how that woman made me feel. she really got under my skin. hello, it's me, she asked. HELLO?!! i answered sarcastically. something about the female voice, it's so probing and laden with guilt lilt. she caught me at exactly the bad time. i was thinking about something else, daydreaming as i do. i stumbled over my words telling her, no ordering her, to call back for i was busy ending the world. the worst part is i feel she didn't get a good first impression of me, y'know? i hate that first impressions come first. like she saw me as a bumbling idiot instead of the refined, well-spoken gogue that i am, that i should always convey to any stranger that has a question. she thought i was some empty suit in an ivory tower.

Codrus picks up a pebble orbiting the Moon and throws it into space angrily. the pebble suspends in a turning circle, turns into a boulder, and crashes down onto Codrus.

Codrus: ow. speaking of, how do you think my boy Bump fared?

Cotard: Mickey Bump is six feet under. well seven, he's a big boy.

Codrus: shame. he would have loved seeing The Man in the High Castle, that is so him.

Cotard: film will be made and watched again, it's the nature of things that move. culture will come back. i'll remember our race, all of them, all of it.

Codrus jumps onto the Moon's round surface to avoid getting washed out into outer space. he slithers on all fours across the Moon. he uses another plume of time to smoke out his knifed body parts again and reassemble them upright.

Codrus: always be redistributing, that's the key. oh, well looky here, my digestion is better, my heart is squishier, my third eye got washed. i feel more human again. i'm a spring chicken. i feel like dancing.

the other space sailor in their space bubble lands gently on the Moon. Codrus scoops up some Moondirt in his hands, mixes some yellow fairydust in it, and it turns into a burrito.

Codrus: hungry?

Cotard taps his naked belly.

Cotard: i could eat. mmmmmmm, just like Mama used to make. but i prefer burgers. just no chimichangas, Mama says those are strictly a Taco Bell creation.

Codrus: Mama Fuerza. such an apt name. on the nose. *sniffs* no problem *poof* there, burger! bacon of course? it causes cancer but then so does everything. life causes death.

Cotard: speaking of Imzhan, i need to rest. now don't do anything i wouldn't do.

Cotard falls on his palm and lays on a nearby spacerock. his eyes are begging to close but he manages to maintain the slits long enough to see the tail beginning of Codrus's elaborate dance routine on the surface of the Moon. Codrus jumps high over positioned and placed golf clubs, bouncing off nascent volcano spouts and rocky hills, using the entire surface of the baby planet like a seasoned parkourist.

CODRUS DANCES EXACTLY LIKE THIS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

Codrus looks so silly when he makes a jerk move and the knifeblade flaps up and down on his body, boinging and spinning like an out-of-control member. Codrus dons a sparkly yellow glove on his right hand but it won't fit cos his left fingers are too stubby. Codrus turns around and starts to glide creatively down the Moon but trips on a stone. before Cotard closes his eyes for good and trails on, he takes out a roll of postage stamps.

Codrus (mid-dance): what are those for? where did you take them out of? your backpocket? but you're naked! nevermind. letters unfortunately died out. lost art form. no friends to send them to. mine are gone, too. maybe if handwritten letters hadn't died out, humanity wouldn't have died out. couldn't handle the new stuff. hahahaha. did i just say that out loud? too soon? sorry, nervous laugh.

Cotard rolls the postage stamps around his penis and dozes off.




INTERMISSION. COTARD SLEEPS.



Cotard opens his eyes like a cat and the frame of the camera opens up to let in a little light and the expanse of space beyond the Moon hits him for the first time. there's too much light out there in the wild open spaces, so his eyes adjust humanly and pull back. when he can focus again on what's in front of him, he sees an old man with a paunch and tight beltbuckle and bushels of white hair growing inside his spotted ears sitting by a stone. the man has the most approachable face of all time. Cotard checks his dick: there was movement with the stamps. inflation. liquid growth.

Cotard: i can still feel. thank Christ.

Cotard dabs his finger with the precum on the tip of his penis, lightly marks his face with it, two parallel lines on one cheek, two perpendicular lines on the other. he notices his headphones attached with two wires that become one and tail-end into a bottle-shaped plug. he takes this plug and plugs it into the old man's bellybutton. the old man tastes his eyes for the first time.

old man: me Tarzan, you Jane Roberts. hello, my name is Seth. nice to meetcha. bump it, bro.

Cotard wearily touches Seth's hand as memories of when Cotard used to do communion flood back into Cotard's senses like a hurtful electric signal.

Cotard: we will miss them. they were everything. they were what captured life. in a bell jar. they were the mirror by, to, but most importantly of God. you can't say you weren't moved as much as you were horrified. we should have mixed more but goddamn it we loved our salad too much. Bethany Hamilton. she infuses your fear with faith. there is always someone who has it worse than you. oh why did we allow our technology to foster complainingness? if we are to ban anything, let it be comment sections.

Cotard has become quite frayed around the edges. Seth, meanwhile, is always mild-mannered and steady.

Seth (coughing but surprisingly crisp-voiced): everyone is buried under rubble. except those terrorists. leave it to the terrorists to defy the odds and somehow survive the glue apocalypse. what if i told you i know of a cell that is somewhere around, let's say in Syria. or in Bruges. they are hiding in a glass bubble they built with their hardened belief system, held together by ancient delusion, and are ready to come out of their bubble and create the world in their image when the ash settles. remind you of anyone?

Cotard: ah, terrorist, it can mean so many things to so many people, meaning the exact opposite of itself at the same time.

Seth: what if i told you there was one structure that remained not-razed. Disneyland. but look, down below! it's playing in real time. see that warhead? oh no, see it flying there? it, oh, it fucking hit Disneyland! how could you, you bastards!

Cotard: have you been reading my diary? i wrote it on paper, not on a blog. i hate war but that would be the one unforgivable heinous action that would spur me to enlist. but please, don't reinstate the draft, we have enough hatred of government, don't need more mistrust and fudged numbers. what we need is more fudge.

Seth points to his third eye which has transformed into a circling radar.

Seth: now what if i told you that you had the power to decimate this terrorist army. the last of its kind, you make them extinct. you can do a service for your fellow precious hu-more-man, you need not pay the ultimate sacrifice, that's hogwash, why do a glorious thing once when you can do the thing and live on as an eternal war hero?

Cotard: do i get to bring back the dodo? equivalent exchange, right? asymmetrical warfare is too skewed. the galaxy yearns for balance.

Seth: don't look at me like i'm a talking dog, i'm an author. now all you have to do is shape your finger like a gun. like so. and place it touching the tip of your uvula inside your mouth. ah the uvula, that fleshy little member we've all got. the uvula and the butt---men, women, we've all got one. the gift of sound, of words, of language, the miracle of communication, and finally of meaning. then you merely pull the trigger and boom those nasty vile death-cultists get what they deserve. virgins. or more precisly, air. virgins, sure, if they think hard enough. hahaha. death's not cool, it's the end of the journey. you must fight to stay alive. some call it weakness, i call it learning. death's not cool nor hot. it's unfeeling nothing. or, more horribly, it's feeling nothing. hahahaha. do it, end them, stop their firebreathing as they lay on the frozen tundra. give in to your bloodlust, nobody's watching. nobody watches anymore.

Cotard: you sound so calm. i'm doing this.........for scientific purposes.........just to see.

Cotard shoots his tongue and the terrorists are vaporized before they can be vanquished. one of Cotard's  brow furrows turns red and begins to hiss but Cotard does an emergency session of meditation and masturbation and it turns blue.

Seth: have you not noticed we've been atop a mountain on the Moon this whole time?

Cotard takes advantage of this vantage to spot his invisible bubble, where Uvula and the others are. he trains his eyes so they can zoom in like a microscope until he meets his beloved Uvula's eyes. she nods her divine acknowledgement. Cotard nods again to make sure, a safety nod.

Uvula, on her back in the lake, whisperly mouths the words: it is all about sex.

Cotard: you can't know everything about them. there's too much to know. it seems like you reach a point where all is known. but they surprise you. it's the surprises which provide the spark. for most is known and played-out over the centuries. nothing is learned. if it were learned, things would get stagnant. the next generation has to make their own mistakes. it's one thing to read about it in a history book, it's another thing to have a boot on your crotch, to feel the stinging air of an alfresco cafe after getting stood up, to come out of your closet wearing the clothes you want for the first time, to catch the ball in the playoffs, to work yourself to death and die on the job.

Seth: i know the important stuff. i know pop culture. i have every DVD and every netflix of every show ever made chilling in my mouth. and those that were in preproduction and never got made? those got made, too, in my teeth. look.

Seth's teeth are lined with little miniature tvs broadcasting every show ever.

Seth: i find that the culture is cruder. trying too hard to be shocking, gross, sexy. really just trying to get noticed. everything is at the fringes now, there's no center. Rick and Morty explores nihilism for laughs, Bill Maher explores nihilism as smart common sense. everything is bottom-lined. i prefer not to have a bottom.

Cotard (getting more comfortable): you don't have an ass, honey. real friends keep it real.

Seth: and news must be entertaining, it can't just be news. if you're not popular, you don't exist. VICE News, VICE news, that's the indie underground secret news, the take-no-prisoners fuck-you news, even their name is unsavory, they go places Dan Rather would never go. at least before he was fired. they'll do the story behind the story on blowup-doll culture. they know where the plane is cos the person who took the plane is on their payroll. only they can talk to the real killer. VICE.

Cotard (getting more in control of the situation): i've never thought of another man before but i must say that Michael Weiss with his shirt left open unbuttoned thrice is quite the cutie. i love his big words. i could listen to him news me all day. can you suddenly turn gay at 30? or is it an evolution?

Seth: evolution is a smokescreen, one i intend to nip in the bud. do i smell bud?

Cotard takes a bouquet garni out of his butt and waves it around. the aroma is deafening.

Cotard: don't mind me. just sanctifying. i need my space clean before i can perform magic. i know you don't believe in stuff. humor me, please, i need a laugh. you destroyed my home. although, it's true, i don't want to live on *he points his finger to ruined Earth* THAT planet anymore. when i'm done feel free to steam down the leaves of this thing and use it as salsa for the burritos. tell me, have you ever smiled with that mouth of yours?

before Seth can answer, Cotard smiles directly at Seth. Seth looks away despite all his divine might, he slides his hand over his face and reveals he was Codrus all along. Codrus touches Cotard's shoulder at a distance. Codrus can't sit on the Moon anymore, his crusty butt is lined with poo he didn't wipe off properly. it hurts like hell.

Cotard: look at me. look at me smile. there's nothing more powerful in the universe than a genuine human smile. you'll miss it. your mouth cannot produce a smile cos it's too full of lead. we only learn to do what we see represented, that gets us on a repetition kick. we are simple animals who do what our tvs tell us to do. knowledge is imitation.

Codrus: my my, that fur is so soft. dolphin-safe i hope, those eco-terrorists are harder to kill than the cockroaches they protect. man it's fun being other people. i know you're wearing a robe. i see your invisible. i see your invisible robe. and i see your invisible lake. i know what you're trying to do. you won't succeed. you won't save them. i know everything. i've read all the dictator manuals which came before. unlike humans, i learn from my mistakes. it's built into my programming. i'm a machine. i know all strategy and all countermove. i've read all the books and written myself the ones which were unfinished or never written. i shall be the most bombastic evil person who ever lived. i know this because i shall be the last entity who will ever live. i'm like the Hitler of knowledge.

Cotard: hate to always be the contrarian but...............um, you know the lake you so astutely found? it's part of the Pacific Ocean, right?

Codrus: yes, of course.

Cotard: but it's not, it's the Atlantic Ocean. yes, it's really the Atlantic Ocean. and after some time, once the residents don't get fucked over immediately, they'll learn to live in a bubble, fuck each other and raise the family. as the water of the lake serves as their natural home, after a couple of generations, they'll breathe easy again---through their gills---they'll be comfortable in their kinda-human skin, they'll stand up and swim, knowing they're living in unusual strange mythic times. and i hope these people name their civilization after the correct name of the ocean that started it all for them.

next stop: the Sun


Monday, December 7, 2015

TMIT: FEAR OF MISSING ORANGE LIKES




orange addiction. it's a real condition. some instagrammers have it. addicted to the orange like-hearts. i may. or not. not sure. have to get a first opinion. have to go see a doctor. my insurance doesn't cover this.

if i were to come to your home (please do come in my home)...

1. and look in your refrigerator what would i see? it running. i better go chase it.
2. and open your front room closet or hall closet, what would i see? Narnia
3. and open the top left drawer of your dresser, what would i see? a dirty pile of sticky socks. i told you not to look in there.
4. and go to your bedroom and look under the bed, what would i see? the monster i became. i was not a careful fighter of monsters. the abyss stared back at me and saw Drake.
5. and look under your basement stairs what would i find? Nine Inch Nails poster, one black light, a bed, and an exhausted refrigerator. i live there. i'm so cold. so so cold. had to take out the boiler to make room.

bonus: when visiting other peoples' homes and using the bathroom---friends, relatives, parties---do you look in their medicine chests? i don't have friends. i don't use the bathroom. i had the bad habit of touching things that didn't belong to me and vowed i'd never touch anything that wasn't mine ever again. while rummaging through a friend's medicine cabinet in her bathroom i saw a tube of anti-touch cream. i had finally found my cure!...

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Friday, December 4, 2015

TRUE STRENGTH


learned:

* one good thing about a nuclear holocaust: tons of mushrooms created and lying on the ground for you to eat.

* THIS IS NOT WHAT WAS MEANT WHEN WE WANTED TO MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!!!

* this is no time for you to be a snowflake, you gotta be fucking hail.

* take the pork 'n beans. instant gas attack.

* enemy: you poor thing, the nuclear war really did a number on you. you have four fingers.

* Vault Boy: i challenge you to paddleball. winner gets to live.
enemy: fine. take the string off the ball first.
Vault Boy: oh. i was hoping you didn't see the string.

* if your weapon droops like a flaccid penis, that's a sign to get out of there. remember, bullets are undefeated.

* Barry Bonds is the greatest hitter in baseball history. with or without the drugs. think about it.


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happy weekend


Wednesday, December 2, 2015

MAD MANTRA


bumumumumumumumumum

Mickey Bump lies on the ground completely. he's melting into the ground. his arm skinnies and bends backwards awkwardly. he makes a v with the fingers of his tiny hand. in pops a business card in the middle of that v. soon business cards begin to form where the initial one began, they flow in a v pattern flying high in the sky, curving past trees and reaching a designated height where they explode and pop and fall all around the world, especially in desert areas.

Bump (last words): i'm the rainmaker. not a footnote.

the business cards say MICKEY BUMP but there's nothing underneath, they're otherwise blank. at the very bottom righthand corner of each card is

*18-54

a lifesize Man-E-Faces action figure is addressing a crowd on a creaky wooden platform. the rain makes it creakier but the clear droplets are starting to turn yellow and fiery, which is a different problem. the first face speaks first.

Man-E-Faces First Face: you didn't listen to me cos i was black, you listened to me cos i was new. please listen to my successor the same way. afford him the same presidential courtesy. he must be different from me to distinguish his blackness. but it's not about race. there are so many races that there is no race. either there is one or none. aliens are laughing at us right now over how dumb we are.

he switches to his second face with that circular spring action.

Man-E-Faces Second Face (softly, deliberately): hear ye, hear ye, let's return to the good old days. olden times when men were men, women were women, and God was God. arm everyone i say. if everyone has a gun, good guys will be good guys and bad guys bad guys. and crazy guys will be crazy guys. we're all a bit crazy. life is crazy. it's how we respond to the crazy that determines if we survive. especially if we can duck well. if everyone had a gun, national disasters would have been averted. we'd have a very different gauge of tragedy. and for tragedy. our history books would be much different. no need for alternative history, we'd still be searching for ultimate evil.

in the town square of a typical inner city in this country, Ty looks directly into the camera and mugs. his satisfied smile spreads across the screen as he holds a large long pistol that lowers by his bellybutton. he sticks his skinny arm into the sky and shoots it gleefully. the tip of the gun salivates as it emits a ball of bullets which explodes into the sky in a firework of arms, shooting in every direction, dotting the purple night with quick bursts of white. a pound of shellcasing hits Man-E-Faces in the face, spinning his faces out of control as he topples over. one yellow bullet pierces the ball in the sky and reaches up to Codrus's face. it slices up his skin.

Ty: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Codrus: 'tis but a flesh wound. i graze on these all day. hahaha.

Cotard and Codrus at the tip of the earth in the bubble, which is wobbling its contours dramatically:

Codrus: sorry for being a million miles away. cos i was. i had to take a drink. oh i was so thirsty.

Cotard: the reverse blade is still in you, y'know. your stomach ain't gonna start spilling out in swisscheese holes, is it?

Codrus: thank you. i had almost forgotten what pain felt like. it's better if it remains in me, can't do any more damage that way.

Cotard: i'm sure there's still something in you. i wonder what you would shed now. it's not the blood we have all known. it's been forever tainted.

Codrus: enriched. i bleed milk. like defeating a virus by introducing the same virus. milk of magnetism. i've tricked you, y'know. i am so devilish. i love that i exist. we're not in the bubble. we're on one of my atomic hurricanes. collision course with Russia. don't worry, not Putin, Putin fascinates me, he's the type of bloke you just want to have a vodka with. i'm talking bout the outlying areas, siberian wilderness, subjugate some of the hardened peasants there to test it properly. but it's proving difficult. Russia is so vast.

Cotard: whatcha talkin bout illest? it's manageable now. in Soviet Russia it's so big instead of going through Siberia merely turn your head around and you're at the other side. that's why everyone avoids Siberia. i have no desire to plumb the depths of your innerworkings, only your knowledge. do you mind if i get nakey? this monk garb really needs to get with the times. it's too heavy for summer and too slippery for winter. not retentive enough. i want to feel the rain on my face, it's my only joy. i told them those gore-tex cowls wouldn't sell.

Codrus: no. i've seen it all. hey, what gives? this isn't my turbulence. down is where it's at.

Cotard: i countered your bubble with my bubble.

the two travel up toward a rainbow river in the mesosphere. a green bird wearing a tiny astronaut gold-foil heat-shield visor flies in from space and lands on Cotard's palm. he moves his fingers ever so slightly in a cup and the bird poofs into his hangglider.

Cotard: why deny yourself this once-in-a-lifetimes view? look up, my brother. beauty is in the unknown.

Codrus: wish you'd call me friend. friends are easier than family.

the glider tips over upsidedown so the sail of it becomes a raft for the two wanderers. the makeshift boat glides on the surface of the space river, twinkling half-stars start to form on the contact points, drips of multicolor splash all around the weightless path. Cotard sits Codrus

BACK ON THE SPACESHIP, KARATE CHOPS UNDER HIS EYES RIGHT ON THE BRIDGE OF CODRUS'S NOSE TILTING CODRUS'S HEAD UP FROM THE BACK TO THE VIEW AHEAD OF THE RAINBOW RIVER NARROWING, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

Cotard: you enjoy. i'll be over here with my headphones on. i've missed music. it's been a crazy couple of months.

Cotard closes his fingers into an onion-bulb-shape around his ears and headphones form on his ears. he bops his head to the chorus. Codrus turns back to his foe after being mesmerized for three minutes.

Codrus: what are you listening to? and please don't use the word content. i hate that word.

Cotard: my thoughts exactly. it's not content, it's songs. it's just something i used to repeat over and over in my head when i was little. heh, well i never grew up, did i? here.

he passes the phones to Codrus.

Codrus: i shall never be content. a recording?

Cotard: no.

the sound in the headphones is Cotard repeating these words over and over: i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life i hate my life

Cotard: no matter how many times i'd say that, think that, it never proved true. the refrain lingered but the feeling faded. something good would happen next. or something normal. count me among the lucky, huh? the blessed. i had people before me. everyone does.

Codrus's nose scrunches disgustingly.

the two pass the sun. electrical dust fills the vacuum of the vicinity. all of the world's bullets are coming at the sun from every village on every continent, even candy-cane-striped bullets from the North Pole. the barrage never ends, the globe's cover stains with gunsmoke. fire upon fire. the sparks begin to chip away at the sun. the sun slowly molds into a giant screen. while all this commotion is going on in the front with Codrus, Cotard slips to the back of the screen. Cotard poofs into Manny and with his gentle-giant hands makes shadow puppets of various combinations of animals by manipulating his fingers right at the spot where Uvula and the others are gathered at the lake still marveling at her pregnancy. even the nearby lake trees are transfixed moving their branches in and their bushes apart to see. Uvula is still in the water bobbing her head at the surface, getting bits of air but forgetting to breathe. she wears a yellow furry hoodie. her baby the creature swims upright and stands on the glistening watery surface and all anyone can do is honor it with their stares and gawks. the creature blinks his fourth eye and an electromagnetic wave is sent forth across the lands, every gas-station pump is instantly filled with clear fuel. no creature will ever be before or since. this is real this time, real for the media age. a layer of invisible protection envelops the lake like a divine bubble---a trio of icelandic horses who made the arduous journey and whose breaths smell of myrrhic grass barely get inside the bubble before it closes---shielding it from the fires to its sides. all of the cities of the world are burning to the ground. the singe knows not the synagogue from the sin den, the flame like the worst kind of fan fangasms at its freedom to eat up anything it wants. all buildings break, all structures sink into the sand, into the primordial desert below.

on a helicopter on the putting green of the golf course by the lake, a shellacked Kenyatta looks up trying to shield her eyes with her blackened hand and sees her old friend Cotard. though he isn't Cotard anymore. Cotard spots his friend from ago and instantly the connection is made. after a couple of tries he shapes his Manny hands into earmuffs and motions around his ears. Kenyatta gets it. music always works. she straps on her headphones and shouts out the lyrics:

it's in my head, in my head................zombie, zombie, zombie hey hey (bae bae)........it is my family....

a faint picture of Bridge holding a bag begins to harden in Kenyatta's mind. Kenyatta's mind is healing and becoming mysterious again.

Sunsong looks up but not at any gods. she hopes to see her husband in the stars. he is there, muscular and useless on the other side.

Sunsong: take me with you, beloved lifemate.

Emblem: it's not better here. you can do the most good over there. all i can offer from here is false hope. you can lead. you make pants look good. you have nice legs. just pretend i never existed, that's how you'll get through. i'll see you tonight when you fall asleep and dream. as everynight. all we ever have together anymore is milk and cookies.

a coat of many colors springs forth from the heavens and spirals onto Sunsong's sawed-off staff, staining it with her husband's love smell.

Cotard uses his Manny hands to scoop up a large mound of dirt, earth, and trees. he tries to scoop up the lake with the other hand but it's too heavy. he's careful to go around the screen but it gets wobbly and he accidentally drops it in front of the giant sunscreen in space. the forest ball turns into a giant bronze cash register. bronze, not bronzed. the cash register paper starts ticking printing up the latest headlines: news, olds, sports, a word from our non-sponsor, the end of weather, up to the minute, up-to casualty count. a basketball court is rambunctious with activity inside but quiet outside. the beam of light from the screen reaches the court building and suddenly Stephen A. Smith's voice can be heard the world over without a radio.

Stephen A. Smith: the Golden State Warriors finish up their remarkable undefeated season, winning all their regular-season- and postseason games and the NBA Finals chip. not a blemish on their record. Michael who?

Cotard knows his own strength but doesn't realize it yet. he steers his Manny hands wildly, he can't quite control them. he accidentally tips the righthand corner of the screen and it tilts shooting a beam of light directly into Wolf and Cub's house. they manage to jump out her bedroom window in time.

Wolf: somehow i knew one day i'd have to jump out of my house like a spooked animal. it's the line of work i'm in.

Bump's nose begins spewing white glue all over the world. his eyes, which have been fixed on an image of a bouncing red ball for 7000 years, glaze under the earth. the glue never ceases to come out of his two nasal orifices. the glue covers the surface of the world---except the lake bubble---putting out all the fires and forever encrusting Earth with a permanent rockhard fossil top-layer.

Codrus: hahahaha. so much for saving the world. so much for prayer. all those prayers said over and over again through the generations like a record that would never break, so scared it was to not be on the record. what did it get you? haven't you ever heard of creating your own reality? fight the future with me, Cotard. you needed to get out of that monk robe. become a space monk.

Cotard: an astronaut? wanted to but couldn't pass the astronaut exam. too much science for my blood.

Codrus forms a Manny nose on his face and slingshots the bubble out of Earth's orbit with a long stellar sniff into that middle ground of outer space. the contours of the bubble begin to realign, balance out, and stabilize again.

next stop: the Moon, brown and tan.


Monday, November 30, 2015

TMIT: I'M ON A CLASSY BOAT







1. my dream vacation is to_________ everyone knows the dream by now: go on a cruise for ten days where all i do is watch obscure black-and-white existentialist films from the start of last century and dine on brandy as i canoodle with screen legends of yore. sometimes their actual ghosts. we take the canoes out and eat noodles. there's nothing like watching a classic film with water running under you. and when the vacation ends, i stowaway forever.

2. right now i'm in _______ crisis (it'll probably be over by breakfast)

3. i'm done with _______ going outside. sorry Big Papi, i tried to take your dating advice, but it's too cold out there.

4. the most enjoyable thing around the holidays is____________ roasting my nuts on an open fire. it's in these quiet moments i still my mind and talk to the reason for the season. and Jesus talks back to me.

5. dashing through the snow in a _________ coke-fueled Cyber Monday click-to-buy binge. coca-cola, coca-cola.

6. when my blog is broken, __________ i shall finally be free.

7. if only __________ i could live again...................................*puts on sonic sunglasses* but i can't regenerate CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

yeah

bonus: i saw the most amazing ________ this last night! and scene! E.T. came back to Earth! watch:

E.T.: Elliott, i'm back. home was kind of a dump. where's your red hoodie?
Elliott: can't wear red anymore, gang colors. after you left i got so sad i never went outside. i could never see the moon again, too painful. i remembered how much you loved chocolate so i ate chocolate constantly and was close to you again. want a Reese's Pieces brownie?
E.T.: boy that ain't a brownie.

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